DE DONDE VENGO (part. AL2 El Aldeano)

God, give me the lyrics, the push, the voice, the reams
Storm the script of creation under the orchestration of the press
Tune my words in the fencing, alive with faith in more
If this spear stays upright in lost causes, let them come

I’ll be the pencil, the cure, the slow foam
The eyes of the jungle that unearth the crew from the wild
The door illustrates that educates those seeking the way
And finds questions that hide if the offering is pure

My A.K. A The Goat or Blood The Harvest
Father of the abracadabra from jazz to slaughtering the word
My birth chart or message to the Mahatma or save the souls
Or get them to taste the hack of the cage

These classrooms are swift, sauna waters that bathe in pause
The barefoot cause that bleeds the mandala
To challenge tomorrow, embody the lesson
And keep the katana in calmness if El Aldeano speaks to me

Lyrics know how to read recipes that heal
Being an athlete in dead weight is seeing the return of the cassette
Row our faith, whether it’s an offering or a zen path
Come see the light from the other door and they bring you samples in glaze

Various genres, mourning and fire in the hood
Intertwining fingers like the creeds of a rosary
Where the few echo the lips
A verse is born without a roof for the kids without a yard

Hollow echoes of what I have and the soft text
You all are a mirror of the paycheck in tough times
They sing and aspire to the life of the white man
And we have the photo with a candle on the wall of a saint

Because I, oh, come from the pain of my hood
And, in my voice, the Sun hides the miracles
Because over there, I don’t know if maybe they see it
I don’t allow myself to forget where I come from
Because I come from the pain of my hood
You don’t play with the pain of my hood

The help they talk about
Unfortunately, never reaches the poor
Power blinds, think about it, the thief never surrenders
The flower of justice doesn’t get watered

If I perish in battle, I know the gods await me
It’s already written today, I’m going to stain this era with blood
After the war, I’ll pass in calm
Weeks spent burying
The survivors with my flag

In my conscience, the corpses don’t weigh
Death kisses me, eats at my table
While they pray, I don’t go to the field to meditate
Less to pick strawberries, when I go, it’s to turn back with 5 or 6 heads

My demons in their whispers sing victories
Because in a war, calm is more useful than euphoria
Among so many warriors seeking glory
Carrying an axe, writing my story on their skin

Panic in their eyes, flowers in their hair
The night across the land, my saber at their necks
I ask you, what do you prefer? Don’t be guided by them
The luxuries of the king or the gift with which the peasant was born?

The horizon trembles, my pack is coming
Blood on the swords, an ambush
The enchanted fog, my sacred land
Retreat, nothing will remain, neither witch nor fairy
End of the tale, no more seasons

In the early mornings, it’s the eyes of the sky
That guide my combat instincts towards the wake
Used to creating catastrophes, huge in every duel
Where my steps are felt, the birds ignite in flight

I come from the pain of my hood
The park of broken dreams
Where very few will escape
And share their light with others
Never play with the sacred
No, no, the word has kisses

In the lyrics, in the forms, or in the roots
They’re not just truths, brother, I’m the one who says them

I come from the hood giving you my inspiration
And that’s enough for me

Because I come from the pain of my hood
And in my voice, the Sun hides the miracles
Because over there, I don’t know if maybe they see it
I don’t allow myself to forget where I come from
Because I come from the pain of my hood